The Enemy
by No Sweeter Song
Summary: After tragedy strikes too close to home, Neville Longbottom sets out to prove once and for all he was sorted into the right House.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Just a bit of a theory I've had on Neville's future, but taken with probably quite a bit of AU. Not exactly a cheerful read.

And as always, none of these people belong to me. If they did, you'd be paying money to read this.

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He'd never understand how he'd been made a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Yes, his parents had been. It was 'in his blood' as Lupin had put it. And sure, he'd assisted at the Ministry. And at Hogwarts.

But the fact remained that Neville Longbottom was nearly as bad as a squib when it came to magic. He was a fumbling, clumsy, and nervous wizard. Just the sight of Severus Snape gave him chills, and half the time, simple spells were out of his league.

When Harry had come to him with the proposal to join the Order, Neville had been stunned. He'd given about a dozen reasons why he wasn't the type. He knew about the Order, of course. Gran had told him time and again what an amazing auror his father was and how much supporting the Order of the Phoenix had meant to him. And he'd figured out about the Order reforming during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. But to be asked to join?

It had stunned him to the point of refusing the offer. Harry had seemed more than a little shocked. Apparently, turning down such an offer was unheard of. But they couldn't know what they were doing or they'd never have asked.

It was the support of his friends, though, that changed his mind. Ron had said, "Mate, it'll be good for you, get out a little, get some practise in." Hermione had, of course, taken the more practical approach. "Neville," she'd said in a very matter-of-fact tone, "you're one of the most skilled Herbologists we know. The Order needs potions, salves, the works!"

But it was Harry who'd made the final call. He'd looked into Neville's eyes and informed him, finally, of the prophecy. Told him how it could've been either of them about to face the Dark Lord. As he finished, he said three simple words that made Neville's choice obvious. "I need you."

Gran had been ecstatic. Finally, Neville was getting a chance to prove himself, to be like his parents. But he wasn't Frank or Alice Longbottom. He was Neville. And that's why he was sitting in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, contemplating whether or not he should even be there.

He had found another use for his beloved Mimbulus Mimbletonia. When blended with wormroot and bicorn hair, it had the ability to conceal the Dark Mark. The problem was, the Death Eaters had found out that fact first. They were using it to go through town unspotted. Neville's task was to figure out a way to uncover it. Without Snape around, he'd proven to actually be all right with simple potions, along with Hermione's help.

He'd had a theory. They were trying to learn a way to uncover the concealment. It would assist aurors in deciding who was doing You-Know-Who's bidding under the Imperius curse, and who was a bona fide Death Eater. The cream the Mimbulus made didn't come off with simple soap and water. They'd been using a reluctant Draco Malfoy, and an even less willing Snape as their testers. So far, all he'd managed to do was to turn Malfoy's arm purple, much to the Slytherin's dismay, and he'd burned Snape before the man had called him a careless idiot and accused him of doing it on purpose.

Snape had brewed a base potion, and Hermione had set up several cauldrons of it in Neville's room for testing. It was there that he was trying out several variations of the counter potion. According to Hermione's analysis of it, the Mimbulus was necessary, as was the bicorn hair. It was the additional ingredient that was confusing Neville. He'd been in his small room at the Leaky Cauldron, pouring over Herbology books for days. He left the room for meals, of course, and once, Luna had actually convinced him to take a walk around Diagon Alley. Aside from that, though, he was studying the properties of every plant, herb, and flower he could think of, trying to find what, exactly, would cause the opposite effect of the wormroot.

Seated cross-legged in the middle of his small bed, Neville poured over book after book. There were several small piles around him that he'd already read, and a growing pile on the floor of those still to read. Water plants seemed to be the right path, but he'd yet to be able to narrow it down to the right one. Some he didn't have in his collection, either, and he'd had to send Ron or Dean searching for them. Gillyweed was out, as were three different types of water lily. He'd finally gotten a hold of some seaweed, but that from the Atlantic Ocean didn't seem to be doing it. It had had a much more positive effect than most of the plants he'd tried, though, so Neville had put out a search for some from the other three oceans as well.

Sand had potential as well. It had the same calcium and salt content that the seaweed did with its own properties. So far no luck with it, though. The soil from the bottom of the Great Lake turned out to have magical properties of its own, but nothing that would help him with the particular mixture. Frustrated, Neville sighed and flipped through _Properties of the Ocean_ for the eighth time.

He was so engrossed in reading about the sand deposits of the Red Sea that he didn't hear the shouts from the first floor. The angry, or in some cases, terrified voices bypassed him completely. The thundering footsteps on the stairs never even registered in his mind. It wasn't until the he heard a pounding on his bedroom door that Neville jumped. He went to mark his page, but Ginny's urgent voice jarred him to move faster. "Neville!" she shouted, still pounding. "Neville, _please_ hurry up."

In his hurry to get off the bed and to the door, Neville tripped over a pile of books, landing face first on the ground. His head pounding as hard as Ginny's beating on the door, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed for the handle, still hunched over.

Ordinarily, Ginny was one who would show concern for his injuries. The look of horror registering on her face, however, had nothing to do with Neville's slight limp as he ushered her inside. She was wringing her hands together, inhaling and exhaling at a much faster pace than usually necessary. Neville watched her, concern flickering through his dark blue eyes. "Gin?" he asked hesitantly, as the sounds coming from below them began to register. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Ginny choked back a sob, the sound resulting in a firm hiccough. "Neville, I'm so sorry," she whimpered, inhaling deeply. "There was nothing anyone could do. It was too late."

"Too..." He tilted his head, studying her quizzically. "Start from the beginning, because I'm not following you here. Too late for what?"

Sitting at the edge of the bed, she dropped her face into her hands, strands of red hair falling all around her. He could see her taking several long, steadying breaths. "There was an attack."

That wasn't really anything new. They were in the middle of a war, after all. "Who was there?" he asked, suddenly a bit more worried as he thought of the Order members who meant everything to him. "Did we lose anyone? Hestia? Diggle? Snape?" Merlin willing.

With a shake of her head, she brushed back the tears in her eyes violently. "That's just it," she protested. "It was so fast. None of the Order was there. Very few Aurors. They couldn't save them all."

"All of _who_," Neville insisted, by that point slightly frustrated.

"St. Mungo's."

The two words resounded between them. Neville blinked once. Then twice. Ginny's light brown eyes studied him carefully. He knew she was expecting a response of some sort, but he hardly knew what to say. An attack on a wizarding hospital? But who would've done it?

His hesitancy must have registered. "Neville, it was her," she told him. "Well, all of them, really. The...the Lestranges." Her voice shook over the name as many people's did over Voldemort's. Every muscle in his body went tense. She couldn't be saying what he thought she was. It still hadn't exactly clicked inside of his mind, but the sinking sensation of dread was beginning to build in his lower abdomen.

"What did they do?" he asked softly, so softly he could barely be heard over the yells of those sharing the small motel with him.

"A fight broke out," she began, attempting to keep her voice even. "The two men-Rodolphus and Rabastan-they began hexing and cursing everyone around them. There was only one Auror on duty, and by the time backup arrived, it was too late for most of them."

She didn't have to say anything else. Neville knew. He didn't know how he knew, exactly. He simply did. And, with a wavering voice, he whispered, "And Bel...Bellatrix?"

The tears Ginny had been fighting since she'd entered the room spilled over, and a strangled sob escaped. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered.

No. No, it couldn't be happening. Neville refused to see it for what she was saying. He'd make a visit to St. Mungo's, offer his condolences and any help he could give, then visit with his parents, as he did often now that he was living in London. They'd only just begun to recognise him. He knew they didn't realise he was their son yet, but his mum actually had greeted him cheerfully the last time he'd gone. Nothing was going to change that.

Nothing except the words Ginny choked out between her tears. "She was up the stairs before anyone could say anything. No one had even noticed she'd gone. She... They heard her saying she was going to finish what she'd started."

They were gone. Neville knew it as well as he knew his name was Neville Francis Longbottom. Only son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, skilled aurors who'd been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Jr. And they were gone. "Is there..." He couldn't finish his sentence, because the next thing he knew, his knees had gone weak and sunk beneath him. Ginny leapt to her feet, helping him over to the bed.

"I'm so sorry, Neville," she continued, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He barely even registered the touch. He was barely even aware of the noises downstairs diminishing, of his friends appearing in the doorway with their condolences one by one. It didn't even occur to him that he was sitting on _Properties of the Atlantic Ocean_. Gran had passed only months before. Now his parents--what had been left of them--were gone, too.

Despite all the caring, considerate people around him, Neville had never felt more alone in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for such brilliant reviews, everyone! Appreciated them muchly. So much that I delved into chapter 2. Just remember, this is not a happy tale. No no, not at all.**

**And, as always, these kids don't belong to me. If they did, I'd be a whole lot richer.**

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Dressed in all black robes, Neville stood in the quiet cemetary with a somber expression. He was aware of people all around him. Luna's hand was wrapped tightly in his. Ginny stood on his other side, her hand on his shoulder. Harry stood by her, and he knew that the other boy was shoulder to shoulder with Ron, at Hermione's side. The rest of the Order was there as well, and the ones who seemed to be taking it the worst were Lupin and Professor McGonagall, both who had been close to Frank and Alice Longbottom before they were attacked with the cruciatus. Neville was having difficulty registering anyone else's pain, though.

For nineteen years, he'd barely known his parents. What he knew were their stories, told through wizarding photographs and first hand accounts. Lupin had often told him of his mum and dad's school days while they worked. Sometimes it made Neville a bit bitter, knowing he'd never get to witness any of that. Most of the time, though, he was appreciative, recognising the kind gesture for what it was. As much as it hurt to hear of Frank's glory and Alice's kindness, it was still a connection to his parents he otherwise wouldn't have had.

He knew there was one person in the cemetary who could truly understand, though. Glancing sideways, he caught Harry looking at him, a strange expression on his face. Neville attempted a small smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Ginny noticed the face he made, and gave his shoulder a small squeeze.

As the wizard preciding over the small ceremony finished his speech, Neville gulped. He'd known it was coming, but he wasn't quite prepared to say goodbye. Before the day ended, the two coffins resting in front of him would be lowered into the ground, the bodies inside never to be seen again. He'd already picked out the marker with Luna's help--a double heart, declaring both of their names, their dates of birth and death, and the day they were married. Beside the lot sat another grave. The marker on it read 'Augusta Longbottom 1929-1998 Wife, Mother, Grandmother'. Neville wasn't foolish enough not to think that his own place would be there as well, lying next to his parents. The question was, when?

"Go on," Luna whispered, releasing his fingers and placing her hand on the small of his back. He knew what she was trying to do. As the next--and last--in the Longbottom line, it was his responsibility to lead the funeral procession. With a wary look over his shoulder at a strained looking McGonagall, Neville took the first few steps forward, laying a plain, white rose on top of each coffin. He supposed he should say a few words, but he didn't know what. There weren't many memories of his parents in Neville's conscious mind. All he really knew was he had enough Droobles' wrappers to paper the Leaky Cauldron and that his dad tended to hum Light My Cauldron most of the time. Instead, he touched the smooth, polished wood of the top of each coffin in turn.

He heard a strangled sob at the gesture, but didn't turn to see who it had been. The others were following behind him, and by the time he turned around, the Longbottoms' caskets each had large handfuls of roses. And people were still filing through.

Ginny walked to his side, hand-in-hand with Harry. Hermione, less quiet in her gesture, flew over, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, choking over the words.

Awkwardly, Neville returned the hug, patting her thick brown hair. Ron gave him a sheepish look from over Hermione's shoulder and slowly began extracting his wife from around Neville. "Don't mind her," he whispered. "Took it harder than I'd expected."

How did everyone else have the ability to speak just then when he didn't? Neville didn't understand. He should be able to laugh at their jokes, agree with their worries, thank everyone for their condolenses. But all he'd found he was able to do so far was nod and mumble non-commital, incoherent comments.

"Neville?" A quiet, hoarse voice sounded from next to him. Neville barely looked up to meet Lupin's eyes. He shrugged half-heartedly instead of giving an actual greeting. Under any other circumstances, he might've found it rude, but at the moment, he didn't care. "Everyone's going back to mine and Tonks' flat for a bite to eat. You'll come, won't you? Molly's doing the cooking."

He didn't want to go. Not really. What he wanted was to lie in bed and become numb. Maybe he could try drinking his pain away. It seemed to work for many other people, why couldn't he? He didn't want to go back to the Leaky Cauldron, though. He'd been staying with the Weasley twins in the flat over their store ever since Ginny had told him. It had been too hard to go back. He knew he needed a more permanent location, but he couldn't bring himself to return to his grandmother's old house, either.

Sighing, he nodded again. In the back of his mind, he registered that several faces were smiling reassuringly at him, and he did feel it when Luna's arm wrapped around him tightly. It didn't make it any easier to walk away from the caskets that held his parents' bodies, or the holes that the caskets were being laid into shortly. With a last look over his shoulder at the flowers and the arrangements, he allowed himself to be led away to the point where everyone was Apparating to the Lupins' from.

The party--well, it seemed odd to call such a somber gathering a party, but that was, indeed, what it was--was a nice setup all together. Molly Weasley had made them plenty of sweets and cakes and puddings, as well as a few more savory dishes. Neville had placed a biscuit on his plate, as well as a small piece of chicken, but his throat was so dry he almost choked on the food. Setting the plate to his side, Neville folded his hands in his lap and watched the crowd around him. The tense, mournful air seemed to be slowly fading from the room. People who'd been less close to the Longbottoms were beginning to chat a bit more normally about other things. Neville's friends were starting to disperse among the crowd, making their way around the room. Tonks was playing the part of hostess, with the exception of handing out and filling up drinks and snacks, for fear of the carpet's safety.

Was that how it was going to be? Everyone just going back to normal? Would Neville ever reach the point of feeling normal again?

He stood abruptly, completely forgetting the plate beside him. He hurried out into the front yard, gulping in deep breaths of cool oxygen. The inside of the flat had seemed so stifled. Everything hurt. He was suffocating in there, and the only help he could find was out in the clear open.

What he hadn't expected to find there, however, was Harry.

The dark-haired man stood, leaning against the railing. He glanced over his shoulder at Neville, who'd leaned against the wall in order to catch his breath. At first, neither of them spoke. Finally, Harry nodded at him. "All right, then?"

Neville knew Harry didn't mean in general. He meant the fact that it looked like Neville was unable to breathe. Neville nodded quickly, feeling the sweat on his forehead start to cool. He still couldn't speak.

"Right," Harry answered, barely shrugging his shoulders in response. A breeze caught Harry's hair, ruffling it slightly. Neville figured that might've been symbolic somehow, but was too weary at the moment to place it.

"You don't remember your parents at all." When Neville found his voice, he was shocked to hear what had come out. Still, better to get it out in the open. They were both thinking it, and he knew it.

Slowly, Harry shook his head. "Not really. Fragments. Pieces I've put together from old photographs. My Aunt Petunia snuck me a box of old home movies--those are sort of like photos with sound--of my mum. And..." He released a slow, shuddering breath.

Neville didn't rush his friend. He cocked his head to the side a bit and nodded, implying that he'd wait for Harry to go on.

"And when I get too close to dementors, I can hear them again. The night they died."

"The night they were killed," Neville corrected, his voice cold and low. Lower than Neville Longbottom's voice almost ever got.

Harry seemed startled by the change in Neville's tone. "Well, yeah," he said slowly. "Neville, what are you thinking?" There was concern in the man's bright green eyes, and Neville had to glance away in order to avoid it. He didn't want anyone's sympathy any longer.

Glancing down at his thumbnail, which he'd chewed down horribly in the last few days, Neville shook his head slowly. "This...well...what you're doing. All the fighting You-Know-Who. Is it...do you consider it revenge?"

"In a way," Harry began slowly. "Not just for them, but for me. But, Neville, you've got to understand something. I'm also attempting to do this for the wizarding world in general. Not just for my own benefit."

"And you think being rid of Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't benefit everyone?" Neville uncharacteristically snapped. He knew he was being childish and selfish, and Harry had enough going on. But it wasn't i fair /i . It just wasn't bloody well fair.

Harry fell silent, and Neville was horrified he'd insulted the other boy beyond repair. Harry and the Order were all he had left.

But the young man surprised him. "I think it would be a justice. She's powerful, though. Almost as much as Voldemort is, and probably twice as crazy."

As was customary, Neville winced at the name of You Know Who. Still, he narrowed his eyes a moment later and nodded. "She deserves what she gets."

Looking alarmed, Harry's eyes widened and he turned to Neville quickly. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly, and Neville could hear the worry in his voice.

"I mean," Neville began, "that she deserves to die. And I'm going to be the one to do it."

"Neville--"

"What?" Neville snapped yet again. "Are you going to tell me I can't? That I'm too clumsy, too stupid, or too slow? Because I'm not any longer and you know it."

There was another moment of silence. Harry's green eyes studied Neville's blue ones carefully. The link between them had never been stronger and they both knew it. Finally, he swallowed hard and shook his head. "No. I was going to tell you to be careful. And let me know what you need."


End file.
